


Family History

by AshaCrone



Series: For Family [1]
Category: Doom (2005), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mourning/grief, Multi, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshaCrone/pseuds/AshaCrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If Earth is the only home you got left, Spock, why don't you go there? Surely you got some kin...</i> Doctor McCoy had told him, after the destruction of Vulcan. </p><p>After a few weeks, he actually takes the Doctor's advice.</p><p>A series of one-shots in reverse chronological order about the price of immortality and the people left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Photos

Family History

Disclaimer: Star Trek: AOS belongs to Paramount, Doom belongs to someone else, and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all.

Pairings: canon Spock/Nyota, John Grimm/OMC 

Content Note: grief, angst, takes place after the destruction of the Narada but before Kirk takes command of the Enterprise. 

Summary: If Earth is the only home you got left, Spock, why don't you go there? Surely you got some kin...

~*~*~*~*~

Spock had lived on Earth, in San Francisco, for years.

He had rarely taken the opportunity to travel about, however.

 _If Earth is the only home you got left, Spock, why don't you go there? Surely you got some kin..._ The Doctor's advice had rung through his ears for weeks after the destruction of Vulcan, until he could no longer ignore it. _You're not alone_.

Visiting the Southeastern section of the former United States had happened only once in his lifetime. The memories were (sweet tea mixed with the scent of honey suckle and the weird itch of insects that tried to drink his blood then fell over dead, the thick sodden air, and the feeling of _acceptance_ for being both Vulcan and human and the gap that had closed and then the realization he could never be either)... conflicted. He had tried to forget those times because he had become unbalanced. Lost sight of his goal to embrace the Vulcan way.

"How long has it been?" Nyota asked, threading her arm through his. "You said this was your grandfather's house?"

"Approximately twenty-two years. I believe he was related by marriage." Spock had no expression as they approached the veranda, pace measured and even, without a hint of his internal hesitance. "But not by blood. However, he helped raise my mother and her older sister for most of her life after the death of their mother and their father's subsequent remarriage."

"So your mother was close to him?"

"Yes. She would say that Papaw Joe was the most human person she had ever known, for good or ill." He paused at the steps. So many memories of a few quiet weeks... "He was, to all accounts, an excellent caregiver."

Nyota just smiled. "What happened to him?"

"He died fifteen years ago." Spock paused. The memory was still confusing. "I remember little; my mother was upset, and told me that Papaw Joe had 'gone away' and while I could no longer see him, if I needed him, he would help me." He shook his head. "She was quite adamant about that fact. Later my father explained that this was a euphemism for death, and telling children that their loved one is still available to them was a way to comfort the bereaved." Spock's eyes fluttered. "I am not the most adept at human facial expressions but I believe she looked disgusted."

Nyota turned away quickly, but Spock could make out a snort and a giggle. He failed to see why the situation was amusing. 

The door on the veranda slammed open as a young girl ran out; she was about seven, human, with straight brown hair and green-hazel eyes, her face dusted with freckles. Spock had the odd feeling he had seen her somewhere before. 

She stared at them for a beat, before turning and hollering "NANA! Cousin Spock and his girlfriend are here!" she said before turning and sprinting back inside. The door and the screen door both, painted white and chipped, slammed behind her. There was a flurry inside the house, yelps and calls and he heard the sounds of children thundering up and down steps (and again, his own memories of being encouraged to do so) as the door opened again...

"Spock!" a voice called, and the half-Vulcan had to hide the lump in his throat as the ghost of his mother rose to confront him in the guise of his aunt Doris. 

He had met her once before, but none of that seemed to bother her as she offered a faint nod and bow towards him, but then turned to Nyota, introduced herself, and gave her an enthusiastic hug. 

"I should have warned you," Spock murmured towards her as more people began to gather. There was a small pack of children milling about waiting to be entertained, but they wanted in on the hugs- Spock had a small circle of kids hugging his mid-section- and took them. (He had to clamp down on his telepathy, hands high in the air. Even Vulcan children needed touch, and he understood human children even more so.)

"About what? They're delightful," Nyota said as they were ushered inside. The adults, Spock's cousins, continued talking in their pleasant syrupy drawls, and then both of them stopped. 

They nearly came to attention.

The woman coming down the hall was tall, approximately two point three centimeters shorter than Spock, with the same green-hazel eyes that looked so familiar. She was dressed in a Starfleet uniform, and Nyota's eyes widened in surprise.

"Commodore Darnell," Spock offered. The woman had taken an interest in his career, even meeting to advise him a few times. Most of those meetings had been formal, but now-

"I'm Aunt Jojo here, Spock," she said. She snorted as she offered Nyota a handshake. "And you must be the lovely Lieutenant Uhura. I've heard good things about you." She nodded. "Thank you for putting up with our boy here."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. 

Joanna sighed and shook her head, before patting Spock's shoulder. "I know Mandy didn't try very hard, but surely you've learned some humor by now?"

Spock opened his mouth... but no words came out. The memories of his mother, of his world...

The Commodore sighed. "We grieve with you, my boy. I know she was happy with the life she had with Sarek and you, and she never regretted it. Wanted to beat the hide off your dad a few times, but never regretted it."

"I-" Spock said, then choked. There was too much emotion, and a sense of hollowness, in the wake after what happened. He would never allow anyone to know that his logical decision to save the elders had been based on his need to protect his parents. He could never show the feelings of grief and terror, or the secret shameful relief and guilt that came from being a survivor. Those were human emotions, human sentiment, and allowing them to surface was an intolerable lapse of control.

So he said nothing, but allowed his two aunts to touch his face, his shoulders, feeling their grief spill over and mix with his own. Still, that his pain was shared, even in that small way, eased away the wretched blackness that had clung to his mind. 

"Take your time. You don't have to heal all at once. No one can tell you when and how, and if you say something stupid that Vulcans don't grieve, I'm going to thrash you myself," the Commodore said. He found himself being guided to the dinner table, Aunt Doris on one side and Nyota on the other.

"I think I like them, Spock," Nyota whispered in his ear, and he gave her a look. He had forgotten... that once, he had, too.

~*~*~*~*~

Human food usually tasted bland to Vulcans, but his aunts had done their best to make sure he would enjoy this meal. He was familiar with the typical style of Georgian food, but this was not it. Instead, they had gone with spicier Mexican fare: beans, peppers and tortillas, cheese, things that would not upset a vegetarian. Vulcans did not have a strong sense of taste, but his human side did mean he was capable of tasting sweet things. (In particular, his aunt Joanna's vinegar, coconut and raisin pie.) His sense of smell was also more profound than his childhood peers (something that had earned him much teasing as a child, along with needing a humidifier in his room.) and meant the greater subtlety of human cuisine was palatable for him.

All told, the meal went without incident. There was the expected stories of his mother's life, tales of her exploits in college from the point of view of the rest of her family, of how Papaw Joe followed her to Vulcan to be her obstetrician.

"That seems unnecessary," Spock protested, mouth half full. He paused, chewed, swallowed. "I'm sure the doctors on Vulcan were more than-"

"You're missin' the point, son," Aunt Joanna said with a snort. "Dad wasn't going to leave her out there alone. Mandy was family; she wanted family with her. She loved your dad but you were her first child and that was scary. Many human women want their moms there, but since hers was dead, she got Dad."

Aunt Doris snickered. "God, the bellyaching! The moaning! You'd think someone was asking him to get out of the starship and _push_ from the way he went on..." She passed the plate of jalapeno corn bread to her son Lester. "He always hated spaceships."

"And transporters," Aunt Joanna answered. "Said he was afraid that one day his ass would get transported somewhere else." She sighed. "Despite the demonstrated safety of current transporter tech-"

"Papaw's an antique, as Mandy likes, liked, to call him." Doris's fork tapped her plate as she looked away, lips pressing together before she got up, voice quavering. "Ex-excuse me." She hurried around a corner. They could hear the lights come on in the bathroom, and the sound of water running.

There was silence for several moments. The adult conversation tried to restart, and Spock felt his hands drop to his lap so he could hide them as they clenched into fists. Eventually Aunt Jojo called the meal as being over and asked her son Samuel and daughter Cassandra to help with the pie as everyone filed into the living room.

Spock didn't know what to do. He was used to being a stranger among humans, but at the same time- 

Vulcan was gone. This was the only world he had left. 

Nyota didn't touch him- Vulcans were never comfortable touching casually- but she did gesture with her chin, offering him a way out. He stood, following her, as they started to tread the rambling, creaky floors.

It was a pleasant farm-style house, with a sweeping veranda and two stories, the windows open to the warm night air. Flat, 2-D pictures lined the halls. Most of them were of the Commodore's family, but there was one-

"Is this your mother and father?"

Spock nodded. It was a picture of his mother and father after their wedding ceremony on Vulcan. He hadn't known that his aunts and human grandfathers had also made the trip, because they were standing beside her with huge smiles amidst the sea of very stoic Vulcan faces. There were others, of his mother and aunt Doris as girls, sitting with their parents. Spock had never known the man who had actually sired his mother; he had died well before his birth. Papaw Joe was standing next to David Grayson (dark hair and eyes, like his mother's, and Spock had to admit that he had more human in him than he had believed) with a faint smile softening a face that was half covered in a goatee. From their suits and the location, he guessed it was their wedding day.

"I know that face," Nyota muttered, tapping the glass. The picture was printed on actual paper and had faded with the years; only about half of the pictures were in electronic frames. "I just..." She tilted her head. "Huh. Think your Aunt Jojo might be related to Doctor McCoy? I think he has roots here."

"It is a possibility." The idea made him oddly uncomfortable. The Doctor had proven to be almost as intelligent as he, but driven by emotions. Sometimes, despite everything logic told him, the Doctor was even right. 

The next picture was a family portrait. There were many- the entire hall was covered in them- but it was of himself, newly born and being held by his mother against the great backdrop of the Vulcan desert. She had looked so young then, but she glowed with both exhaustion and joy while his father stood at her side. 

Vulcans were said to not feel emotions... but the look on his father's face was very suspicious at that moment.

There was another body there, too, and Spock paused. Dressed in white scrubs, hair covered, Papaw Joe's expression of soft happiness was identical to the one in the wedding photo. Unchanged.

There was a soft rustle of cloth as his Aunt Doris came out of a darkened room- if he remembered correctly, it was the library- holding a small PADD. 

"Here. I thought you might want this," she said quietly. "It... well, we would have given it to you earlier but..." She sighed softly. "It's your mom's journal. She would have wanted you to have it. Everything she left here, we want you to go through it and see what you might want to take."

He took the PADD with numb fingers. "Thank you. However, Vulcans are not-"

"Then don't. It's your call, Spock. We never got to see you much growing up, but you're still family. We want you to be... happy." She shrugged. "Content. Whatever normal is for a Vulcan. We can't give you back your world but you are welcome here. My home, too. Do what you need to."

Nyota's body was warm, beside him, which was odd. His body heat was usually much higher than hers. 

"Now, about that pie?" she asked, and they headed back to the living room. None of them alone.

End


	2. Good advice

Sarek of Vulcan was no longer of Vulcan. 

Indeed, no one was. 

There had been no word yet on the number of survivors. For a brief, horrific moment Sarek had thought that he, and the handful of elders his son had saved, may have been all that was left. They sat around him, quiet and still, in the sickbay of the newly christened _Enterprise_. 

The silence _hurt_. Vulcan was a planet full of disciplined minds, a carefully measured hum that lacked the brilliant shading of emotional minds but still always present. Like the constant vibration from a ship's engines, it wasn't really noticeable until it was gone. Yet it was such a profound lack... Even worse was the crushing weight of lost personal bonds. All of the Vulcans in Med Bay had lost family or bondmates and their minds were bleeding from the loss.

Then word came in: approximately ten thousand. Ten thousand refugees of a population of five billion. He needed to focus on that. It was illogical to hang on to shock, to deny what had happened. Grief, rage, denial; all of it was...

There were others. Intellectually, he knew there had to be others. Vulcan did have colonies, few though they were, with small populations. Science outposts. Trading vessels. They... there were DNA records, samples of their planet's ecology. They could start over again. They could replace-

 _Amanda was gone_.

Her presence in his mind was a void; her last thoughts and feelings had been black horror before a deafening _crunch_ that was followed by nothing.

His son was on the ship. His son was the one who had come for Sarek and Amanda, trying to get the elders and themselves to safety. Spock had acted emotionally, but if he had not made his choice the chance to preserve their culture would have been lost. 

_If Spock had been just a meter closer Amanda would not have-_

The rage that rose up to choke him almost broke through to the surface before logic asserted itself. Spock did what he could have, and being angry was not only horribly un-Vulcan but it was also pointless. Nothing could bring Amanda back. His brilliant, feisty, loving wife- why did it hurt so much more knowing that she was-

She would want him to go to Spock. To try to comfort him, ease the pain and guilt. Yet he had no comfort to offer, not when-

Too much. Logic offered no solace. Emotion boiled so hard that he wondered if he was losing his sanity-

When a hand was placed over his. An anchor offered; nostalgia, familiarity and empathy held out their fingers and he scrambled and clutched for any stable ground available. 

" _I grieve with thee_ ," a voice said, echoed in Sarek's mind, in perfect Vulcan. Sarek found some shelter there; the grief was broken against the weight of the tree he hid behind. It still flowed, still threatened to rise up and carry him off, but he could _breathe_ again.

Sarek lifted his eyes, and blinked. A mug of hot chocolate was thrust into his hands. 

He was staring at an impossibility. 

"Don't try to think. Take a drink, find your head. Go find your boy when you can get out of this moment," Joseph Darnell ordered, in a voice just above a whisper. "It'll pass. I know there was bad blood between you two but this is too important for that. You just lost your world." Green hazel eyes pinned him. "There is no logic to be found. Go ahead and feel. Be honest with Spock, and yourself. Trying for perfect control will just mean the explosion is worse when it happens."

Sarek blinked several times as his father-in-law, dressed in Starfleet medical blues, turned to continue handing out the hot chocolate to the rest of the bereaved Vulcans. 

He took a sip. It was warm, filling up the cold space, the intoxication dulling some of the pain in his mind. On a day where nothing made sense, a man coming back from the dead was the least of his worries.

~*~*~*~*~

The destruction of the _Narada_ had given Sarek some measure of... relief. Earth had been spared. She would have been grateful.

He had gotten the opportunity to watch Spock and McCoy- that was what he was calling himself now, Leonard McCoy- interact, wondering why Spock hadn't noticed the similarities. As far as he could tell, Darnell was acting like himself, if perhaps more emotional and cynical. 

He had not seen the man in decades. Even before his supposed 'death.'

 _"What's wrong, Amanda?"_ he remembered asking, seeing her disturbed after a call from her sister.

 _"It's Dad. He's... Doris just called. Said that he was sick. Xenopolycythemia."_ She had sent a wave of shock and disbelief through their bond, her mind unwilling to accept what was happening. All of her colors were in stark white and black. 

He had heard of the illness. It was terminal. _"You should see him then. Make your peace."_

 _"I don't believe it. Dad_ never _gets sick."_

His wife had never been one for foolishness. _"You question the diagnosis?"_

 _"I question him being sick at all."_ He had felt dull, slippery green suspicion coat the bottom of her mind. _"He's been... pining, I guess. Since Daddy died. I'm worried that he's going to... He's decided to say goodbye and then he'll just..."_ Mourning drifted like ashes. _"He'll just leave."_

_"Pining?"_

_"Longing. Heartsick."_ Her expression had turned to pity at his lack of understanding. Yet he could never have said to have felt that emotion, despite his age. She had shaken her head. _"Missing someone to the point where your health declines. Not that he really can-"_

Joseph Darnell had 'gone away' three months later. Amanda had barely made it in time to say goodbye. He hadn't understood her rage, her lack of forgiveness. After all, her stepfather had not asked to die. Now, though... now he _understood_.

That was the reason he found himself following McCoy to Starfleet Med Center when they finally docked at Earth.

Sarek decided to approach this encounter with caution. One thing he did remember quite clearly about Joseph Darnell was his mercurial temperament. The entire situation was puzzling, and a (welcome) distraction from the pain of losing his wife and world. 

McCoy didn't seem to be expecting him. He was sitting at a desk, drinking a cup of coffee and rubbing a face that was showing a couple of days worth of stubble. His eyes were fixed on the PADD in his right hand. Sarek tried to contrast this man from the Joseph Darnell of his memories, and found the differences to be few. Merely cosmetic. Bright brown hair as opposed to silver, clean-shaven as opposed to Darnell's goatee. The main differences, of course, was that McCoy looked quite youthful for a man who was supposed to be in his late eighties.

Otherwise... the _minds_ were the same. Blue and green, tight control burying an old and canny monster under layers of time and experience. 

"I had been lead to believe you were dead," Sarek began, walking to McCoy's desk after he was sure they were alone. 

Doctor McCoy put down his coffee cup. "And you were meant to keep believing it." 

"Amanda," and merely saying her name caused his heart to spasm, "said you were planning to 'go away.'" Sarek took a step closer. "I had thought she meant you were planning suicide. She meant something else entirely." He stared the man down. "You are not human."

"You bet your ass I'm human, son." And this was the Joe Darnell he remembered, getting to his feet. He loomed, the old and weary monster stirring beneath the surface. Sarek took a step back, and McCoy's shoulders dropped, menace fading away. "Just with... a few extras."

There were questions to ask, of course. What extras? Why did Amanda not trust him with this knowledge?  
"Why did you reveal yourself to me?" While it would have been difficult, Sarek knew he had been almost insensible during his time on the _Enterprise_. As long as direct confrontation was avoided, he would not have noticed Darnell's presence.

"You think Mandy would have forgiven me if I had left you alone?" McCoy's voice cracked, hoarse. "You were in pain, and Spock needed you. God knows I couldn't get through to him." He chuckled, without humor. "Hell, I couldn't have forgiven _myself_."

Sarek nodded. An illogical course of action, but then... this was bigger than logic. "Why do you conceal your identity?"

"Earth has laws against genetic augmentation beyond treatment for diseases," McCoy answered, leaning back and crossing his arms. "And every Vulcan I've ever met has a bad habit of following the rules. I'm happy living in obscurity, Sarek. Are you going to turn me in?"

He opened his mouth, and shut it again, and was silent for several moments as he tried to find the words.

"As you said," he began, and paused again, eyes lowering. "Amanda would never forgive me. It is illogical, but I know Amanda would not be pleased if I turned you in to the authorities." He met McCoy's eyes again. "You are no threat to the Federation, and losing a good doctor at a time like this would be... unwise." 

McCoy snorted. 

Sarek went silent again, before voicing the most important question. "How long did you mourn your mate?" 

"How long?" the more-than-human echoed, sitting on his desk. "That's a good question. I'll tell you when I stop. The pain fades, but still... I wake up and the other side of the bed is cold and I wonder if I need to check his office. See if he fell asleep working again. I find a joke my best friend would have liked." He took a gulp of his coffee and grimaced. "Or want to ask him to warm up my coffee, and he's scrap. I read a new article on some new archaeological dig and I think that my parents, my sister would have _loved_ to know about it." He sniffled, voice catching. "The price of living, I guess. Carry those who aren't with you, remember them, and hope they're in a better place."

"I see." Sarek had lost people before but, before, he had taken solace in the Vulcan way. But now, it seemed trivial and worthless. 

Neither noticed the door open and shut behind them.

"Keep yourself busy. Don't shut out the living. Take care of your health. Don't do something stupid," McCoy said, ticking off the points on his fingers. "Then promptly forget my advice and do what you need to, one day at a time. Can I help you?"

"Indeed," said the elder Vulcan. "Ambassador Sarek, I believe you have been requested by Starfleet for a debriefing."

~*~*~*~

Spock took a deep breath as his father (his father's counterpart, he reminded himself) walked out of the small borrowed office in the Med Center. He had spared Spock a glance, a curious one, but the other Vulcan's thoughts were still so muddled with grief and confusion that he didn't want to see who was standing before him.

He should not have been surprised to walk in on McCoy giving his father advice. The old soldier would try to salve everyone's hurts, no matter what universe.

"What can I do for you?" McCoy asked, and Spock stepped in close, putting his wrist under McCoy's sensitive nose. 

The expressions filtering across the doctor's face and his mind are both colorful and amusing: a mix of shock (and Spock would give anything to _hear_ his Leonard's, _his_ Papaw's, string of filthy swearing and mixed metaphors in his own voice) and confusion, and then bright and cool realization filtered through.

"So. The Narada wasn't the only thing coming through those black holes," McCoy said as he took Spock's wrist for one last sniff and then guided it away. If anyone would know the scents of his family, it was the man who was present at the birth of Amanda and her son, his other grandchildren and great-grandchildren. "You are Spock... from the future. Who knows me pretty well." His voice cracked. "What brings you to my office?"

"I," and Spock sighed. He saw and felt the surprise at the show of emotion, and felt an old tide of regret. "I wished to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine."

"You are not."

"You know I'm not normal. I'm always fine, Spock," McCoy answered, picking up his coffee and PADD again in a clear dismissal. 

"Have you told Joanna and Doris that their sister is dead?"

The mug in McCoy's hands shattered, blood mixed with coffee dregs spilling down the front of McCoy's uniform. His hands shook as Spock took the PADD from him, glancing at what looked to be McCoy's resignation from Starfleet. 

"I have observed that while you give very good advice, you very seldom follow it," Spock said, paraphrasing, and McCoy made a hoarse, rasping laugh. 

"Alice in Wonderland. Your mother always did love that book, and that movie."

Spock put down the PADD, noting that McCoy was pulling the shards out of his hand. The gashes were already gone. All that was left was healed skin, and a scarred soul.

"Doctor... Papaw. You are human, and humans grieve. You may not be Joseph Darnell any more, but you are still her father."

"Later." McCoy's voice was rough, but his face was turning splotchy. "You lost her, too, Spock. The other you, that is. The Vulcans have lost their world. After this is sorted, then... Maybe."

"I see." Spock nodded towards the PADD. "Doctor, you and I served together for years aboard the _Enterprise_. You will potentially save the lives of many of the crew. Without your presence I have no doubt I would have died an untimely death. The same is true of Jim. Your journey with them is just beginning. We need you."

"But not everyone. I'll never be able to save them all." The doctor reached to take the PADD back.

"Doctor, what can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the Reaper Man?"

McCoy's hand dropped. So, finally, did the tears.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quote comes from Terry Pratchett's Discworld novel, _Reaper Man_.


	3. A tale of two sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop me if you've heard this one. Two sisters walk into a diner. One is forced to stay behind, while the other is forced to always rush forward. They try to meet in the middle, and remember who they were.

"Sarek, I'm here to kidnap your wife," Joanna Darnell told her brother-in-law pleasantly, after the Vulcan secretary had lead her into his office. "I've been trying to contact you and her for the past day, and no one has answered. Give her up now and I promise I won't hurt anyone."

Said Vulcan ambassador had stood behind his desk, looking up at his tall sister-in-law with one eyebrow quirked. "I have never understood why you insist on phrasing requests as threats. You know you are physically unable to carry them out, and the political ramifications of your attempt would not look well for Starfleet. Your frequent attempts to intimidate me are not well received."

"I'm a girl from Georgia, Sarek, and Mandy is my baby sister. I'm also out of uniform," she said, gesturing at her jeans, leather jacket and emerald blouse over her combat boots. Her short black hair, artistically streaked with iron gray, fluffed around her ears. "So none of my threats can be said to come from Starfleet. I just want to take her out while you're on Earth."

"And my big sis could wipe the floor with anyone here, dear," Amanda said, sashaying into Sarek's office, dimples on her cheeks as she opened up her arms. Both sisters grinned before hugging like children, faint squeals of joy making Sarek wince at the high pitched noise. 

"Forgive Sarek, Jo," Amanda said. "We've had some tentative contact with the Klingons and it's been slow going. But we finally hit some common-"

Sarek opened his mouth to cut in.

"And I can take a break."

"Good! Have you been to visit Spock yet?"

Joanna could see Sarek frowning in the background. He had not seen his son in years, despite Amanda doing her best to force the issue between her husband and son. Because of Sarek's estrangement from his father, Spock had spoken little with his mother since his decision to decline appointment to the Vulcan Science Academy. Amanda had sent Jo any number of frantic messages, and Joanna had stalked the boy's career, sending any scraps of information back to let Amanda know that her son was safe and healthy. So far, Spock was none the wiser. 

Joanna, at this point, had no intention of enlightening him. 

Besides, Dad was at the Academy and he was more than enough guard dog. 

"No," Amanda said, wistfully, glancing back at her husband. His face had gone blank again as shook his head in a no. She sighed, stepping away from her sister to stroke her fingers over the back of Sarek's hand. "I'm going to see him, Sarek. Do you want me to take a message?"

"He knows my reasons. That should be enough."

"I see Vulcans would give Darnells a run for their money when it comes to be stubborn and hard-headed," Joanna said lightly. She tilted her head towards the door. "Let's go, Mandy. You pick the restaurant, my treat."

Amanda smiled and winked at her sister. "Sounds good."

~*~*~*~*~

"You warm enough?"

Amanda looked at her big sister, envying her metabolism that adjusted to whatever temperature she happened to be in. Almost thirty years of living on an arid planet left her miserable during a San Francisco damp winter. As it was, she had changed into human fashions, with an knee length parka and her head was swathed in a rose-print scarf. 

"I'll live. Still, hell, this is far worse than Marietta, Jo." 

Jo just shrugged. "You know me, I'm always fine!" she said, but her chirp sounded more than a bit strangled. "Hungry yet?"

They found a little diner, one that promised a meat and three sides, but promised to be more 'upscale.' Whatever, the place had an excellent reviews and the wait-staff were all polite and friendly. No one recognized the Ambassador and the Commodore. That was fine with both women; they rarely got to be out there, dropping titles and pretenses.

Just sisters, just friends. 

Amanda tapped the display, pursing her lips as she read the menu. She had lived among a species of vegetarians for so long that meat would upset her digestion, but the veggie plate should be okay...

"So, how many plates are you ordering today?" Amanda teased. Jo's metabolism had been a running gag during their childhood. "It's a miracle you haven't sunk a starship."

Jo snorted, not bothering to look back before she made her selection. "I provide ballast." 

"Starships don't need ballast."

"Good thing I took a dirtside assignment, then, isn't it?"

"Speaking of which..." Amanda said, and then smiled when their drink orders arrived and thanked their waiter. She had just gotten water, but Jo took a gulp of her dark'n'stormy as soon as it arrived. "How's Spock?"

"He's doing very well." Jo's eyes creased in a smile, and Amanda noted she hadn't plastered on the aging makeup today. "Your son has good taste, by the way. His lady friend is a brilliant linguist."

Amanda found herself leaning forward. "He- my boy- he's actually _dating_ someone?"

"Don't sound so shocked." Jo, who as a grandmother already, was smiling wickedly. "He's got quite a fan club, whether he knows it or not. I think the cadets flock to his aura of 'I'm half human and angsty' that he gives off without realizing it. Nyota Uhura was the first bold enough to make an actual move that didn't involve throwing various unmentionables at him."

Amanda choked on her water. "Please, please tell me that didn't happen."

This time Jo grimaced. "He was oblivious to it, but I had to haul in quite a few cadets to remind them of our sexual harassment policy." She sighed. "Miss Uhura was able to convince him that she was worth taking seriously for her mind, then started flirting with him. For what it's worth, I like her. She's smart, takes no guff, and has legs like a goddess." Her faintly lecherous smile made Amanda frown.

"Is he happy?"

"Hard to tell," Jo said with a shrug. "But he accepts her attentions and seems to return them." She tossed back the rest of her dark'n'stormy, before ordering another one. "With any luck, some day you _will_ join me, Dad and Doris in the grandparents club."

Amanda pinched the bridge of her nose as their meal arrived. They stopped talking for several minutes as Joanna tore into her first plate of fried chicken with gusto. 

All teasing aside, Amanda took an appraising eye to her sister: while her face wasn't creased in age, tension was doing a great impersonation. Her cheekbones stood in stark contrast to the rest of her face, and her clothes were hanging off her too-thin frame. 

"How's Doris?"

"She's fine," Joanna said around the food stuffing her mouth. "Lester's getting his third Masters and Jim and his wife are thinking of having another kid. She's had some trouble with her arthritis lately," and then Joanna put down her knife and fork. "And she was showing some symptoms of early onset dementia." Jo started cracking knuckles. "We caught it early, and she's... She's recovering. Modern medical science is amazing, isn't it?"

Amanda, who had lifted her loaded fork, also put hers down. "No one told me."

"Like I said, we caught it early. Most of the damage was reversible. Dad nearly brained her doctors, though, for not getting it even earlier." She gave a wet chuckle, and covered her eyes. "We're all getting older. I guess this is the kind of thing I need to..." She grabbed for her fresh dark'n'stormy and downed the whole thing, before blindly groping for the menu to order another. "Oh god."

"Jo-"

"No, no, I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "We're here to enjoy ourselves. How's the negotiations going with Sarek?"

"Like trying to take down a steel wall with soft-boiled eggs." Amanda snorted. "Sarek can't understand the Klingon point of view, and it's pretty alien to me, too. They're emotional, and act on those emotions." She grimaced, and lowered her voice. "He thinks these negotiations might take decades, centuries, even. I tried to explain how difficult it is for people with shorter life spans to think in those terms, especially people like the Klingons, or humans, who tend to think only of their own lives. Vulcans do it too, they just have longer..." 

She ran her fingers through her silvered hair, noting the knots and whorls that had accumulated... and that while Jo's hands were more muscular than hers, they lacked the lines and veins that stood out against Amanda's own thinning, more fragile skin.

"Did you and Sarek ever have the 'lifespan talk'?" Joanna asked, looking up at her. Hazel-green eyes stood out against her pale skin. "Dad had it with me when... when I first started to notice things." Her eyes dipped down to her food. "And again when I married Mark. We talked about the differences when we first got together and now... we've been talking about it more, lately. Since he retired."

"Yeah. Dad... he had one with me. But Sarek," She straightened her back and lifted an eyebrow in an impersonation of her husband. "Such a situation should be patently obvious, and it is illogical to talk about the ramifications of our different species. You understood that I would outlive you when we were married, Amanda. I do not see why we should dwell on it."

"I hate to tell you this, but your husband can be a real asshole," Jo said, and started cracking her knuckles again. 

"He tries. He really does. He just... it's a quirk of him being Sarek, more than about him being Vulcan." Amanda shrugged. "He doesn't want to believe I'm not a Vulcan, sometimes. Same with Spock. Spock looks, talks, acts like a Vulcan... but he can't be, always. Of course, because Vulcans are 'beyond' emotions," and she flashed finger quotes at Jo, "talking about them is a waste of time. Particularly when they involve our differences." Amanda forced a laugh. "And in the meantime, he stays exactly the same way he was when we met."

"And you rush away from me." Joanna grabbed her sister's hand. "You keep getting further, and further away. You were the baby, Mandy." She put her hand on her sister's face, the strength of her fingers almost painful, but Amanda didn't move. She knew Jo would never hurt her, and she had married her own superman. She was used to being surrounded by people more powerful than herself. "Now you're... you're different. No one stays the same." Jo hiccupped, almost a sob. "One day, you won't be there."

Amanda took a long, shuddering breath. "I told Sarek it was okay, you know. He could remarry after I was gone. That he could find someone new. That I wouldn't be angry. Sarek almost lifted his voice after that." She squeezed Jo's hand. 

"Mark... He said much the same." Joanna closed her eyes and swallowed. "I'm going to hold on as long as I can, Mandy-kins. I'm not letting go yet."

"But one day you'll have no choice." Amanda squeezed her sister's hand with all the strength of her fragile, human hand. "But you'll remember me, right?"

"Always, little girl. Always."

 

To be continued.


	4. Bad days

Even now, after two hundred and twenty-four years, he still had good days and bad days. 

Good days were when he woke up with a warm body beside him, and had been able to enjoy a full night's sleep. Good days were when he woke up, could look at the patterns of sunrise on the walls through the blinds and hear birdsong and water and knew exactly who was doing the looking.

Bad days had him falling off the bed, crawling to get away from a bomb, an ambush, the claws coming towards his face. Sometimes he woke up and had to wait a few moments before he could accept that he still had eyes. Worst, still, were the days when he woke up and couldn't quite remember who was doing the waking.

Trying to keep the memories an unsnarled mess was an impossible task, and on the bad days they caught him in a web that he could only wait out. So he drowned in it, tried to break to the surface and remember who he was going to be that day.

He sat up, tossing off the thin sheet (never need more than that, not in Marietta) and fell back in simple, glorious _relief_.

His leg- his real, flesh and blood leg- was there. He could look up and see his hands. He covered his face with them and let out a small, hysterical laugh before taking a deep, shuddering breath. Then he could get up and enjoy the cold wood under both of his bare feet as he walked to the half bath to piss and splash his face.

The face that looked back at him was the same one he had been wearing for centuries, with a few cosmetic alterations. His beard was full, but neatly trimmed and colored steel gray, the same as the rest of his hair. The liquid he used to simulate wrinkles didn't need to be reapplied yet, but it would wear off in another day or two. 

"Well, hello there, Joe," he said to himself, recognizing the old man in the mirror. Sometimes, he almost believed it was him.

Two and a quarter centuries had given him a lot of practice in altering his appearance. Older, younger, just enough that he could stretch out a few more years in a location. Slouching took off height, or slight platforms in his shoes could add it. Putting on fat was difficult, almost impossible with his metabolism, but he could add muscle and layer his clothes. Small tricks, but they were enough to change his profile and throw off casual inquiries and searchers. 

With a sigh, he grabbed for a towel and patted his face and grabbed his work clothes out of their pile on the floor. He needed to get some chores done before the girls started showing up to yell at him.

~*~*~*~*~

Doris got there first.

He heard her ground car drive up, and could make out the sounds of both her boys as she got out. They were silent, and Joe winced when he realized what that had to mean.

He gave into temptation, to enjoy the relative quiet a little longer as he kept forking hay to the horses, and let them search the house and settle in. Joe should have known that Lester would come find him first- he could hear the sound of his rubber shoes scuffing the dirt, the faint wheeze as he ran. 

The boy- scratch that, Lester was seventeen and would be graduating soon- raced up to meet him, doubling over from where he had taken off, coughing, then launched himself at Joe. The young man (who looked like the spitting image of his grandfather, and Joe would never admit that his eldest grandson was his favorite even if it was true) buried his face in Joe's shirt, breathing hard, grabbing handfuls of cloth and holding on for dear life.

"Papaw," he said, and choked, and Joe dropped the fork to wrap his arms around the boy. "Papaw, is it true? You're sick?" Lester looked up, a hiccup making his chest flutter. "You're going to-"

Joe exhaled, rocking Lester back and forth and kissed his black hair. "Of course not. Of course not, son." He pulled the boy back to his chest, rubbing his back in circles. "You know I can't get sick. Ever." And sometimes, oh, sometimes, he wished he could. He wished so much that...

"But Mom said," Lester said, and hiccupped, and Joe felt hot tears on his neck. "She said you were going away."

"Yeah." Joe held him tighter. "Yeah, I am."

" _Why?_ " the question was high and plaintive and it broke Joe's heart. "Did I do something bad? Are you angry with me?"

"You know that ain't true. Ever. I love you, and your mama, and your brother. I love your aunts and your cousins." He rubbed Lester's back and felt his neck get wet with tears. "Remember when your Grandpa died?"

Lester had been all of two at the time. He probably didn't remember anything, but he nodded anyways.

"I just have to leave you, for awhile. I promise, though, it won't be forever. Come on, son," he said, and let go, before flinging his arm over the boy's still-narrow shoulders. "I need to talk to Doris."

~*~*~*~*~

Jocelyn had died three months ago.

They'd been married once, back when she'd been young and he hadn't been so old. He had wanted to do right by his little girl and find her a normal parent; to try to give Joanna as normal a life as he could because he had read his comics. Supermen and super-girls needed to grow up in Kansas, or at least knowing what it was like to not be rich and famous. She would never understand what it was like to be sick or weak or slow or stupid. She needed to learn empathy for the people in the world who were. 

It wasn't fair to Jocelyn in the least. He realized that after she had tried to get pregnant without telling him, because she wanted her own children so very much.

The subsequent three miscarriages had nearly killed her. 

They had divorced soon after, and they hadn't met up again until years later when her son and husband had died, and her daughter-in-law had wanted nothing to do with her, not even letting her see her own grandsons. His own husband had died young, and they discovered that, oddly enough, that without any romantic feelings they were still friends. It seemed natural that he should invite her to stay when she started having trouble getting around.

He _owed_ her, no matter how much it had hurt to watch her mind retreat into the past, only occasionally knowing who she was. She had dealt with his bad days often enough.

He got used to being called Father, sometimes even her cousin Ed. Joe had cared for Joanna as an infant, as well as his step-daughters, and his strength meant that moving her when she wasn't mobile wasn't as terrible as it could be. He had seen people age... but never someone he had loved, before. Most of the people he had once cared about died young.

Then one day Jocelyn had come back to herself enough to realize what had happened, that she was dying by inches. Then she had wrung one last promise from him.

He had killed a piece of his soul while doing it. 

Now- now he had to get out. He should have left years ago.

It was that evening that Joanna arrived with her husband, hugging her sister and nephews, who greeted their cousins with warmth and baseball stats. Mandy was coming from off-planet, and wouldn't be there for another week.

They had dinner together, a feast of meatloaf, mashed taters and gravy, biscuits and collard greens, enough to feed four super humans and two normal teenage boys and two normal adults. For a few moments it was like any other family gathering as they caught up on gossip and juvenile jokes, the kids talked about school and who was going steady (they were calling it that again?) and what teachers were being a pain this semester. The mountain of dirty dishes helped forestall the coming tornado of accusations and anger.

Eventually he could no longer put it off. 

"Dad, what the hell are you _thinking?_ " Joanna, now promoted to Commander, had snapped as the adults retired to the living room with glasses of bourbon. Tiny cracks radiated from where her fingers gripped the thick crystal.

He lifted his hand, and shook his head. Joe didn't want to argue. 

She slugged him across the face.

"Jo," he growled, popping his jaw back into place, feeling the bone tingle as it healed. Then he did a double take, and saw the terror there, the fear. David's death had destroyed him, and nearly torn the family apart. 

"This was always going to happen," he said, rubbing his face. Jo had a mean left hook. "It should have happened decades ago." He heard himself choking as he spoke, but David had made him promise to stick things out. Told him the kids would need him. They had talked about what would eventually happen, and Joe had kept putting it off. He should have been the first to 'die.' "I've had the MIB sniffing around for years-" and he was reminded, again, that _no one_ would ever get his references "and I can't risk it. People are starting to notice that I look damn good for my age."

He wasn't fooling anyone. He could tell from how they were staring. His girls had seen his bad days, too. 

"It's not you all," he muttered, sitting down and staring at his drink. "Don't think that. Please. I just- I can't take it anymore." He had never lied to them about what he was, but he hadn't spoken much of his years of wandering while on his Long Walk. He didn't mention the worst parts of Mega City One to the kids, or how Khan had broken him. He didn't talk about the nitty-gritty parts of war, on seeing people fed to the gears that ran it. They knew he had been a soldier, a cop, and a Judge. He was damned happy they didn't know the ugly. 

He felt his hands shaking as he took a drink, and his heels drummed on the floor. "I have to go." Because he didn't think he could stick around to see his family age, the normal people who made life worth it. He had been the local pediatrician for decades and now all those kids were adults with kids of their own and he knew where this story would end and he couldn't bear it again. 

He kept two guns, just in case. They were starting to look mighty attractive right now.

"The people round here, they know me and they know I took Joss' death real hard," he muttered, and grabbed the PADD (he found he missed celos, it was so weird how all it took was a nuclear apocalypse to knock technology back a few centuries) with the plans he had laid out. "It's not even a lie. Funeral in the month, and I'm gone." The PADD detailed his new back story, just enough details to look real. He liked the medical profession, and going into neurology seemed appropriate. 

Of all people, it was Joanna's husband Mark to take the PADD. He was a good kid, good head on his shoulders. He didn't waste time on trying to talk Joe out of it. Mark had gotten The Talk from both Joanna and Joe both, on how tenuous their lives were when it came to things like normality and stability. 

Doris was sitting with her hands over her mouth, not able to look at anyone. 

"Dad, we already lost Daddy. I barely remember my Mom..."

And Joe heard what she wasn't saying. _Don't leave us! We'll miss you, we need you-_  


He knew that. He had helped raise Lester when her rotten asshole of an ex husband had left her high and dry (and dear god he had been sorely tempted to break out the old Lawgiver and _hunt that punk ass down_ ) and then stayed Lester's father figure even when she remarried and the new baby had taken all her attention. 

He had a place here, and his leaving would hurt. Hurt everyone.

Joanna tossed back her drink, eyes narrowed. "Dad, what the hell do you want from us? You asking our permission? A blessing before we send you on your way? _You're asking if we're okay with this?_ " She squeezed her glass, let it shatter in her hand. Echoes of her possible future clouded her eyes. 

Mark took her hand. 

"I don't expect you to be _okay_ with it," Joe answered. He couldn't look her in the eye. "I just want you to understand. I love you all, and I'll stay in touch. I'll come visit once I've set up this life and enough of a cover. If you need me, I'll drop everything to help. _But I have to get out_." He knew he more than a little hysterical as he spoke, "I can't do this anymore."

Who knew it would be normal life that would leave the Reaper completely unhinged?

Joanna swallowed. Doris took her other hand, and they all stared at each other. 

"It's... it's not right for parents to bury their children," Joe said. "And damned if I can stand the idea of burying any of you. Let me go before you _have_ to."

~*~*~*~

They hold the funeral on a Thursday. Oddly, it didn't rain.

Joe looked in the mirror as he listened to the funeral party upstairs; he had locked himself in the basement (which was stupid, but Mandy had insisted he stay until after the funeral) and was trying to remember his new name. 

Leonard. Leonard Horatio McCoy, son of David and Brenda McCoy (and Doris had laughed; of course he had used the names of his husband and David's deceased wife) and currently pursuing a doctorate of Neurology at Ole Miss. He had re-colored his hair, returning it to his old dark brown, before using his straight razor (yes, he could have used the sonic one but why would he want to?) to clear off years of whiskers. Finally he had removed the serum that made his skin wrinkle around his eyes...

And while this was closer to his original face than he had seen in _years_ he still felt like a fraud. 

He hadn't tried to be someone else in almost fifty years. He had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to change roles, to be not be an overprotective, meddling father and widower. He needed this, heaven knew he _needed_ this... but it hurt him, just the same. He wasn't sure who he was, but he did know one thing for sure.

It was time to leave the life of Joseph Darnell. 

In a few hours, the sun would rise on the life of Leonard McCoy.

And it would be, he hoped, a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this comes from times I've felt stuck in my life, and dealing with my grandma who is deep in dementia and doesn't recognize me anymore. *shrugs* Such is life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story to 'Until It's Gone,' and doesn't quite fit in with the rest but is canon to it. It will play a role, but doesn't fit within the rest of the story. Could probably be left out entirely, but I like the idea of Reaper being Spock's grandfather, even if it is by marriage. Gives me happy thoughts. Hope you enjoy.


End file.
